


andante

by perissologist



Series: a little less conversation [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perissologist/pseuds/perissologist
Summary: “I’ll tell you what: I might actually be crazy enough to think about it—if I can be sure that your pretty ballerina ass is legit about bringing hip-hop into your world.” Dick gives a lopsided grin. “You think my ass is pretty?”





	

“Again, from the top!”

 

A stifled groan rises from the assembled dancers, but the group obliges anyway, breaking apart to move back into the starting positions for the new choreography. Dick grimaces as he takes a second to stretch out his aching shoulders, the hair at the nape of his neck curling with sweat. He still hurts from where he crash-landed, hard, on his back after trying and failing to master the latest routine that he’d been working on for the next Street Fleet meet. As it turns out, dancing as a hobby is a bit more strenuous when you dance as a profession, too. 

 

“Sore, Grayson?”

 

Dick rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “Inquiring minds want to know?”

 

M grins, all lazy sharklike delight. “Something like that.” He tugs the hem of his white tank up to wipe at the sweat beading along his dark undercut, and Dick has to avert his eyes to keep from staring at glistening abdominals. “If you’re sore now, you better gird your loins—Diana doesn’t look like she’ll give up the slavedriver shtick until we’re all dancing Shostakovich in our sleep.”

 

Dick ducks his head to hide his laugh as he paces back under the silks, readying himself for the music to begin again. The rest of the company mills around him, taking up the poses that signal the beginning of the dance. “She just wants to make sure that our first new show back in Gotham lives up to the Europe hype.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure it will,” M drawls, eyeing the tall, dark-haired figure across the stage like a gazelle watching a lion on the other side of the watering hole. “Though I’m less sure her dancers will live, too.”

 

As if on cue, Diana finishes her discussion with the prima ballerina and dismisses her, turning back to the group. “Alright, everyone,” she declares, crisp Greek accent echoing in the hollow space, “again, from the beginning.”

 

M gives Dick a look, but gets into position, sliding into place behind Dick’s left shoulder and bowing his head. The spotlights readjust, the introductory strains of Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No. 2 sound from the pit, and the dancers fall into the first steps of the routine, Diana’s brisk, clear commands guiding them from the eaves. The piece is smooth, melancholic, touched with swanlike elegance; the dancers are slightly less so, still awkward with the beginning stages of learning. They make it approximately a third of the way through the opus before a frustrated noise sounds from the shadows, and a second later, Diana stalks forward, waving at the orchestra in a signal to cut. “Halt,” she calls out, and the dancers immediately obey, faltering halfway through pirouettes and pliés to a resigned stop. Diana plants herself at the front of the stage and stares them all down, mouth twisted in thought; Dick, who has been on the receiving end of her sharp, all-knowing gaze since he was nine years old, knows to simply wait, but the newest members of the company have already to begun to shift uneasily in their spots.

 

Abruptly, Diana sighs, shaking her head decisively as she pulls a roll of paper out of the back pocket of her designer jeans and scribbles something furiously on the front page. “It’s not working,” she announces, with as much finality as if the decision is a mandate from god himself, as if this is not in fact the third time that she’s made such an announcement since they began rehearsals again. The words are met with an instant groan from the group, incredulous and put-upon. “The choreography, it’s—unsatisfying, is it not?” At the blank looks the dancers reply with, she huffs. “Well, _I_ find it to be unsatisfying, at the very least.” She waves her hand in dismissal, attention already returned to the notes in her hand. “Go, go. I will call you back when I have something more worthy of our time.”

 

A displeased grumble ripples through the crowd, but the dancers break formation without protest, some dispersing backstage for water or the bathroom while others drop down into easy stretches to keep their muscles relaxed. M nudges Dick as he passes him, fixing him with a significant look. “Put that pretty mouth to use and talk to Princess Prince, will you? She’s changed the damn choreography so many times that I’m pretty sure Helena’s on the verge of leading the ballerinas in revolt.”

 

“Helena’s always on the verge of leading the ballerinas in revolt,” Dick lobs back, and M rolls his eyes, mouthing at him to _Just do it_ before joining said prima in the east wing. Dick sighs, swipes the sweat from his forehead, and turns, making his way off the stage and into the pit, to where Diana is standing at the grand piano, notes spread out before her, jotting down ideas with the relentless concentration that Dick has always tried to emulate in her, since he was a kid.

 

“Hey, Aunt Di,” he starts. She takes a second to finish her thought before looking up, the small, warm smile she always has saved for him already in place.

 

“Richard,” she greets him. “How are you?”

 

“Good!” Dick pipes, a little too enthusiastically. “I’m good. Great. I’m great.”

 

A single eyebrow goes up. “I’m pleased to hear that.” A pause, in which Diana stares and Dick fidgets; then— “Let me guess: M sent you?”

 

Dick sags. “He thinks Helena’s going to start planning a coup if she has to learn another set of choreography.”

 

Diana chuckles, dark eyes gleaming. “Well, he may tell Helena personally that she will learn as many sets of choreography as I give her, because the Company has never put on anything less than a perfect show and we will not start now.” She pauses, frowning pensively down at her notes. “Even if the show itself seems to be alluding me at the moment…”

 

“Uh—” Dick coughs. “I actually might—have an idea about that.”

 

Diana blinks up at him. “Oh?”

 

“Yeah.” Dick hesitates, weighing the words out in his head. “Have you ever thought of doing somethin more…modern?”

 

This time, the other eyebrow lifts. “In what sense, Richard?”

 

Dick tries to put as much confidence as he can into a winning smile. “In a—y’know—glam-rock, hip-hop, style-fusion sense.”

 

_Prince Stare, patent pending,_ Dick thinks as Diana just _looks_ at him for a moment. Then she sets her pencil down, eyes narrowed in consideration. “Explain, please.”

 

_Oh._ “Well,” Dick begins, having already gotten much farther than he thought he would or was prepared for, “I was thinking it might be—fun?—for the Company to do a sort of—cross-genre show, that incorporates hip-hop and rock and modern pop into classical shows and pieces.” He pauses, trying desperately to think of a way to bring the idea out of the abstract. “Like—uh—like that one mashup of Lorde and Mozart that I showed you last week,” he settles on, a little lamely.

 

Diana frowns. “Yes, I enjoyed that mashup,” she muses. “But you are proposing an entire show in this style?”

 

“Yes!” Dick says. “With the choreography and theme to match.”

 

Diana tilts her head, studying him. “May I ask as to where this idea came from?”

 

_Well._ Dick resists the urge to fidget; Diana has never met a fidgeter she couldn’t unravel. “I’ve just—been really getting into different genres lately, you know? I met such a diverse range of talented dancers on the tour, and they showed me some really amazing things with modern music and dance that I’ve, uh, never experienced before.” He clears his throat, hurrying on. “And I think it would be something new and exciting for the Company to try, a little different from the ballets and operas we usually put on. It might be refreshing for the dancers to try something other than what we’ve done hundreds of times over the past year, you know?”

 

“Hmm.” Diana doesn’t immediately shoot him down, which is honestly more than Dick expected on the best of days; instead, she looks like she’s actually considering it, pensive expression fixed in place. “And I am assuming you would like to play a part in the development of this potential show?”

 

Dick’s heart skips a beat. “Please,” he says.

 

Diana stares at him for another full half-minute, and even as battle-hardened as he is, Dick can feel himself start to sweat—but then she smiles, thoughtful and a little bit proud. “I shall consider it,” she says. “On three conditions.”

 

Dick can feel a crazy grin threatening to break out over his face. “Shoot.”

 

“One,” Diana says. “If this production can indeed come to fruition, I believe it would have the potential for great success—but in the meantime, I will carry on practices as usual with the Company. Whatever we might decide on in the end in terms of the final music and choreography, we cannot deviate so far from our field of expertise that we become unrecognizable. We _are_ still the Classics Company, after all—and besides, teaching a host of ballerinas an entirely new genre of dance in the span of a few months is ludicrous.”

 

“Sure,” Dick agrees.

 

“Two,” Diana continues, “neither you nor I are professionals in hip-hop, rock, or modern pop, and if the Classics Company is to deviate so creatively from its ‘classics’ title, I expect it to be done as well as any of our performances. If we are to move forward with this, _you_ must be responsible for bringing the expertise in the chosen genres into the Company, for the sake of maintaining the quality of our productions.”

 

_Except—surprise—I actually do kind of know what I’m doing_ , Dick wants to say, but kills that thought immediately, in the interests of the voice telling him to _Stop exposing your own ass, Grayson!!!_ that sounds suspiciously like Donna in the back of his head. Another idea surfaces, an idea that is excellent and terrible at exactly the same time. “Absolutely,” he says.

 

“Three.” Diana pins him with the weight of her gaze. “You attend the summer gala the Company is holding with Wayne Enterprises next week."

 

Dick stiffens. “Diana—”

 

“Richard.” Diana’s expression remains firm, but her voice softens. “You know he worries for you.”

 

Dick swallows. “I know.”

 

“It is time, don’t you think? To talk out your differences?”

 

The idea of talking anything out with Bruce makes Dick want to laugh, but— “Sure, Aunt Di.”

 

“Hmm.” Diana straightens, busying herself with gathering up the notes still spread across the piano. “Then be at the Metropolitan next Friday evening, eight o’clock sharp.” She flashes him a sly look. “And don’t worry so much—I will be there to keep the both of you in line.”

 

Dick smiles despite himself. “Thanks, Diana.”

 

“Good.” Diana looks pleased as she presses a brief, reassuring squeeze to Dick’s shoulder. “All will be well in time, Richard. I’m adjourning our rehearsal for the day; I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“See you tomorrow,” Dick agrees, and watches as Diana makes her way to the stage to dismiss the rest of the dancers. He waits until most of them have hurried off, eager to make the most of their newly received half-day, before digging his phone out from the pocket of his compression leggings and hitting the first contact under _Recently Added_.

 

“Hey,” he says, as soon as the person on the other end picks up. “I know this is kind of out of the blue, but—do you have time for coffee right now?”

 

~*~

 

“So here’s the thing,” Dick begins, before Jason can ask why the _hell_ Dick dragged him out of the middle of his workday to this greasy little spoon on the edge of the Narrows. “Eight years ago I joined the Classics Company when I was fourteen, and since then I’ve kind of always just gone along with whatever the Company’s wanted me to do performance-wise, but today I finally worked up the guts to convince my boss—our head choreographer—that deviating from our usual shtick of ballets and operas to do a sort of classical/pop cross-genre performance might actually be a good idea, except that she insists that _we_ ’re not experts in pop and if we’re going to do this, as a professional company, we’re going to need the most authentic consultants out there so—” Dick takes a breath and resists the instinct to wince. “I thought of you?”

 

The full minute that Jason spends staring blankly at him feels like one of the longest of Dick’s life. Finally, he opens his mouth, looking like he doesn’t even _know_ what to say. “Are you—asking me to _consult_ for your _ballet company?_ ”

 

Dick summons up his best Dickie Grayson Grin (TM). “I’ll buy you lunch every day until the show opens?”

 

“Grayson,” Jason starts, then barks out an incredulous laugh. “I’m a _car mechanic_.”

 

“And a great one, I’m sure,” Dick says winningly.

 

“I don’t know _shit_ about ballet, or—acrobatics, or—whatever it is that you do.”

 

“Good thing I know a lot.”

 

“I—” Jason sputters. “Doesn’t your company have a—a reputation, or something? You know, a ‘rich famous dance elites only’ club? You really think your boss would hire a mechanic from the Narrows as a _consultant?_ ”

 

“If you think Diana cares at all what your day job is, then you don’t know Diana,” Dick says. He leans forward, eyes intent. “Look, Jason, I know this sounds crazy, but—you _know_ the music. You know how to dance to it, how to choreograph it. Those kids last week, they were incredible, and you told me yourself you taught them everything they know. And you’d get paid—good money, too, the kind professional consultants make.”

 

This, at least, seems to catch Jason’s interest. “How much?”

 

Dick tells him the hourly rate. 

 

Jason’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Dick says. “And don’t worry about the ‘reputation’ thing. Hiring an ‘authentic culture consultant’ is very in right now. Inclusivity points, you know?”

 

Jason laughs, shakily. “Wow. White people.”

 

Dick smiles. “Right?”

 

Jason looks at him like he’s trying to figure him out. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?”

 

Dick shrugs. “I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time.”

 

Jason chews on his lower lip, a mixture of skepticism and hesitance and slow, cautious consideration crossing his expression. At last, he sits back, reaching for the coffee that Dick shoved at him when he first arrived. “I’ll tell you what: I might actually be crazy enough to think about it— _if_ I can be sure that your pretty ballerina ass is legit about bringing hip-hop into your world.” 

 

Dick gives a lopsided grin. “You think my ass is pretty?”

 

Jason flushes, rolling his eyes to cover the scowl-laugh that threatens to break free. He reaches into the pocket of his jumpsuit and pulls out a pen and a pad of paper, scribbling something on the top page before tearing it off and tossing it at Dick. “Next Friday, at midnight, some friends of mine are doing a showcase in Burnley. It’s about as real as I can show you without, you know”—he coughs—“bringing you underground. Come and check it out; if that’s the kind of stuff that you really want for your show, then we can talk.”

 

Dick takes the page, reading the messy scrawl of Jason’s handwriting telling him the address. He looks up and meets Jason’s eyes with a grin he can’t quite contain. “It’s a date.”

 

Jason stares at him, opens his mouth—then seems to rethink whatever he’s about to say and closes it again, shaking his head with a tiny smile. “Shut up, Grayson, and just buy me lunch already, will you?”

 

Dick laughs, feeling something warm bloom inside him, and turns to flag down the waitress. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends! sorry it's been so long, but the month of november was.......tough.......and i didn't get much writing done. also apologies that this is such a boring, filler-y chapter, but i've been struggling with how to flesh out the plot for a while now and this felt right. i promise that the next installment is going to be infinitely more exciting; things to look forward to:
> 
> -glitz  
> -glamor  
> -dynamic duo angst  
> -the Harem in full force  
> -badass diana  
> -the sibs  
> -me taking on some of the suggestions you've been leaving in the comments and my inbox  
> -gay. so much gay
> 
> in the meantime, leave a comment below or come talk to me at perissologist.tumblr.com/ask! :)


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